“I never had your trust.”
“Watch your mouth, young lady. By the time you get to come out of your room, you’ll realize how much freedom you had and threw away.” His silk waistcoat stretched against his puffed-out chest. “My men have work to do. I can’t send them chasing after you every time you have a fit.”
Her hands balled into fists. The memory of the lock clicking on the attic door resonated in her head. A cage, that’s what it was. She glanced at the back hallway, its door leading outside to the kitchen.
“You take off running, and you’ll spend a month up there.” His voice cut through her indecision.
“I don’t have fits. And I never asked for your help or wanted it.” Spittle wet her lips. “I’m not my mother, and I’ll never be the lady you want me to be. So why don’t you let me go?” Her words echoed off the walls.
Her aunt drew back. “What are we supposed to do with her, Robert? She’s an impossible girl. One minute, she’s calm. Then she explodes. You never know what she’s planning.”
Eyes narrowed, her uncle marched over to Morning Fawn, toe to toe. “You should be thankful I don’t listen to you and let you leave.” A vein bulged in his forehead. “You’d be in the gutter somewhere or in a saloon. Some man’s kept woman. The Comanches you’re so fond of are hundreds of miles away. And if there was a brave you were thinking of sharing a tipi with, he’s probably taken a wife by now, maybe two or three. There is nothing and no one waiting for you out West.”
Aunt Judith flinched. “Robert. Don’t?—”
“I bet my mother ran away from you and her father.” Morning Fawn’s voice shook. “Probably tried to control her just like you do?—”
His hand fell hard across her face.
Morning Fawn dropped back. A metallic taste pooled in her mouth.
“I’ve had enough of your sass. You have no right to speak of things you know nothing about. Now go.” Her uncle jutted the walking stick toward the stairs.
Aunt Judith wrung her hands.
No wonder her mother and father had braved the frontier rather than live under this roof and off this man’s mercy. A memory flashed. Her mother’s gentle hands brushing Morning Fawn’s hair, her sweet voice telling a story. The same woman who’d shoved her under a wagon the night of the attack and then ran in the opposite direction in an attempt to lure the attackers away. Trembling, Morning Fawn had covered her head and her eyes, but her mother’s screams had pierced to her soul. They still did.
Fighting back tears, Morning Fawn rubbed her cheek and pivoted toward the stairs. She would not cry in front of these people. They would not defeat her.
If only her mother was here now. Or her pia, her sweet Comanche pia who’d gone hungry herself in order to give her food. Someone who cared.
CHAPTER 3
Devon sliced into the quarter of roasted chicken on his plate. Since leaving his regiment at Brownsville, his meals on the road had included little more than hardtack and salted pork. His mouth watered at the abundant fare before him—rice, tomatoes, squash, and freshly made bread, even butter. The lower half of Eastern Texas was making do with scraps and wondering how they were going to get through the winter, and these people ate like they’d never heard of a war or a drought. Maybe it was because he was a guest, maybe not. But he knew one thing for sure—the folks down in the slave cabins on the backside of the plantation weren’t eating like this.
His stomach twinged as he glanced at the ceiling. Morning Fawn was somewhere upstairs. A prisoner of her uncle’s once again. Because of Devon. But what was he supposed to do? Let her run off to the city or some cow town with a stolen horse and gun, without a penny to her name, not even a pair of shoes? Besides, he hadn’t known it was her. Better he stop her than a posse. Did the girl even stop to think?
Across the table from him, Miss Thea LeBeau’s silk dress rustled as she shifted forward. “Mr. Reynolds, I’d love to hearabout your battles. We receive so little news here.” Her auburn hair fell in ringlets along the sides of her pale skin. Despite her Grecian nose, she was fairly attractive, but the way she’d waltzed into the dining room like royalty was enough to make him look the other way.
“Thea, darling, give the man a chance to eat his dinner.” Mrs. Judith LeBeau dabbed her mouth, her own hair a duller shade of auburn with gray streaks. “A soldier doesn’t always like to speak of such things.”
LeBeau leaned back in his seat while a servant girl scooped gravy onto his chicken breast. “But we must hear the lieutenant’s story, Judith.” He tugged on his striped waistcoat. “Last I heard, Reynolds, you planned to use your three hundred dollar reward for rescuing my niece to pay your substitution fee and avoid conscription. Did you have a change of heart, or was it that trouble you ran into up at Fort Belknap?”
“The trouble at Belknap was nothing. Just a disgruntled colonel with a grudge over a parcel of land. He refused to take my word that I was on my way to pay my fee?—”
“You considered paying someone to go in your place?” Thea fluttered her fingers against the lace fichu which covered her bosom. “Most of the young men of my acquaintance welcomed the chance to become a soldier and serve the Confederacy.”
“I didn’t have to dream of being a soldier. I was one.” Devon pressed his lips together. He’d been a fine soldier once, but he had no intention of fighting for a Rebel fiefdom. “I was in the U.S. cavalry before the war, ma’am. Left the service when Texas seceded.”
“Bravo. You did well to wash your hands of the Yankees.” Her eyes lit. “But why didn’t you enlist in the Cause immediately?”
“I’ve been curious about that myself.” LeBeau carved a slice of meat.
Devon studied his plate. He couldn’t afford to have hisloyalty questioned. The best lies were often half truths. “It is due to my late wife.” His voice dipped, and he reached for his water. He’d say this once and be done with it.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize you’d been married.” Mrs. LeBeau frowned.
“She passed… It’s been three years.” He swallowed. Three years and the mention of her death still felt like a punch in the gut. “On her deathbed, she asked me to give up soldiering.” Not exactly the truth, but how was he to explain that soldiering had become so entwined with his sorrow and guilt, he couldn’t bear it anymore? “So when secession hit, I followed her wishes. I did my part for Texas through various scouting missions and frontier defense. I even hauled cotton.”
